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She waited for him to request an attorney, but a long moment passed in silence. Josie said, “Let’s start with this morning. What time did you wake up?”

“Six,” he said. “I always wake up at six these days even when I’m not working.”

“Were you working today?” Josie asked. From the moment they’d arrived at his home, she’d wondered at his going back to work before his mother had been buried.

“No. I decided not to take any calls for a while.” He scratched his chin. “Can’t focus. But the church secretary called and said they had a bad clog in one of the bathrooms. One of the toilets was overflowing. There was all kinds of sewage coming up from the sink. A huge mess. I was gonna refer her to another guy but Kirstie was home. She’s not going back to work till after Mom’s funeral. She said I had to go. She said my mom would be pissed if I didn’t help the church.”

His lower lip wobbled as he said his wife’s name and Josie had to force herself not to look away.

“What time did you get that call?”

“Around seven.”

“What time did you leave the house?”

“Maybe 7:20? I’m not really sure.”

Later, Josie would confirm all of this with the church secretary.

“Did you have any contact with Kirstie after you left the house?” she asked.

“No. I was only gone for a few hours.”

“What did Kirstie plan to do today?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Scroll on Instagram? Read a book? Whatever she wanted, I guess.”

“Is that what she usually did on her days off?”

“I guess. I’m usually at work so it’s hard to say.”

“Did she ever have friends over?”

“No, I don’t think so. She likes her alone time.”

“What time did you arrive home?” Josie asked.

“Um, around noon. Twelve fifteen? I don’t know the exact minute.”

“Tell me what you did when you got home.”

“I opened the garage door from the van like I always do. Went in. I was stinking pretty bad and covered in shit so I stripped down right there and carried my stuff into the laundry room. It’s between the garage and the kitchen. Put my clothes in the washer. Went inside. There was a broken window in the kitchen and some other stuff.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t—I can’t remember. It’s a blur. I started to panic. Yelled for her but there was no answer. The living room was trashed. She wasn’t in there either. Ran up the steps and there she was in the bed⁠—”

A long wail climbed his windpipe, filling the room. He wrapped his arms around himself, knuckles blanching like he was holding on for his life. More wails assaulted Josie’s ears. Again, she waited for him to regain some composure.

“She looked so bad,” he hiccupped. “She didn’t look like her. There was lipstick on her face, but it was all messed up and there was this weird lipstick on the floor I never saw before. I think it had a devil tail on it or something. It was him, wasn’t it? The Last Kiss Killer? He did this. He killed my mom and now my wife. Why is he doing this? Why is he after my family?”

Josie had been in the presence of many criminals who had missed their callings as award-worthy actors. If Dean had murdered Sylvia and Kirstie, this was one of the best performances she had ever witnessed.

“We’re trying to figure that out,” she told him. “I know this is difficult, but I’ve got to ask you more questions.”

She let another moment pass while he gathered himself. “When you found Kirstie in the bedroom, did you touch her?”

He shook his head. “No, no. I couldn’t. She didn’t look like herself.”

“How about the lipstick?” she asked. “Did you touch that?”

“No, no. I mean I looked at it but I didn’t touch it. Didn’t touch anything. I didn’t know what to do.”